Wish upon a star or is it a falling star to wish upon.
Is it empty first or is it empty after it’s all gone.
Do I sleep tight or do I sleep silently through the night.
To many choices, my mom used to tell me what is right.
She, the loving comfort from her mind to my mind.
I still turn to ask, to inquire, but her voice I can’t find.
Lost at times reaching for her embrace to hold,
my inner voice protects me from the empty cold.
-
Author:
Maplespal (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: May 27th, 2026 07:13
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 2
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments1
Lovely the building of a conscience from past words of a mother. So nicely told it feels right and is a fave
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.